Chapter 13

Yu Zhengzheng froze mid-step, turning to glance at the man lying on the icy ground, a faint smile tugging at her lips.  

It seemed as though he was having a nightmare.  

Judging by his murmurs, he was likely dreaming about events from long ago.  

Setting aside the fact that the Divine Lady had perished thousands of years ago, it was rumored that their relationship as mother and son had been strained, with ties severed early on.  

To hear him call out “Mother” so tenderly—it must be a memory from his childhood.  

Curiosity piqued, she hesitated before carefully crouching down beside him. Slowly, she reached out a finger to press against the center of his furrowed brows.  

Young children often have poor memory. If this dream was a recollection from his youth, he wouldn’t remember her presence even if he saw her here.  

A wave of dizziness swept over her. She steadied herself and, upon reopening her eyes, found herself in his dream.  

Before her stretched a vast expanse of snow, blindingly white and bitterly cold. The thick blanket of snow stung her eyes, and distant voices filtered through the chill. Instinctively, she shielded her eyes and ducked behind a boulder.  

“Don’t send him. I’m begging you…”  

The soft sobbing of a woman reached her ears, the restrained sorrow in her voice unbearably poignant.  

“Wretched woman! Qing’er is about to give birth! Without the Dragon Spinal Marrow, her child will die the moment it draws its first breath!” a man’s venomous voice snapped in reply.  

“You used to be so magnanimous and reasonable. How can you be so cruel now? I’m not asking for his life, just for him to serve the Eastern Emperor’s High Priest for a few days…”  

Yu Zhengzheng adjusted to the piercing brightness of the snow and peeked out from her hiding spot. Hearing this exchange, her brows furrowed slightly.  

The Eastern Emperor’s High Priest… Wasn’t he just an old man?  

She recalled a portrait of the High Priest in the *Chronicles of the Six Realms* that she had seen in her scoundrel father’s study. He had a pointed face, a scraggly beard, a hunched figure barely 1.5 meters tall, and sparse teeth capable of plowing fields. He exuded a distinctly lecherous air.  

Records about him mostly detailed his infamous penchant for young men. Any man who fell into his hands rarely escaped alive.  

In the end, retribution found the High Priest—one of his male “companions” murdered him, and his licentious exploits were laid bare for all to see.  

Yu Zhengzheng pondered the exchange between the man and woman. Who was the “he” they were discussing? Could it be the Ghost King?  

She surveyed her surroundings but found no sign of a child. Taking a chance, she emerged from behind the boulder.  

As long as she avoided the Ghost King, no one else in the dream could see her.  

The man and woman came into view. The woman knelt in the snow, weeping bitterly, while the man stood coldly beside her.  

Yu Zhengzheng recognized the man from an old portrait—the Third Prince of the Eastern Emperor. He was the short-lived Dragon King who, after ascending to the throne for half a month, was skinned and dismembered by the Ghost King and turned into dragon jerky.  

Behind them sat an iron cage draped with a yellow cloth. Through the gaps in the cloth, she caught a glimpse of scarred, fragile arms.  

“Mother… save me…”  

A faint, broken voice came from within the cage, barely audible and heart-wrenching in its frailty.  

The woman clutched the Third Prince’s leg and tearfully questioned, “Qing’er’s unborn child is a life, but is my child with you not also a life?”  

The Third Prince sneered, “How can you and Qing’er even compare? If you don’t want him to go, fine. I’ll write you a letter of divorce right now. Take him and get out of the Eastern Sea. Go back to the Heavenly Clan where you belong.”  

Yu Zhengzheng was stunned—so this woman was the Divine Lady, the Ghost King’s mother.  

And the one locked in the cage must be the Ghost King.  

Although she didn’t particularly like the Ghost King, the Third Prince’s vile arrogance was infuriating. She crouched on the sidelines, secretly hoping the Divine Lady would slap him and teach him a lesson.  

But as she waited, the Divine Lady slowly released her grip on his robe and leaned into his embrace, speaking softly with a hint of a whimper: “I was wrong. Don’t be angry. It’s my fault. Will you forgive me?”  

Yu Zhengzheng: “???”  

The Third Prince, as if expecting this response, pulled her closer, his tone softening. “Very well. It’s late. I’ll spend the night in your chambers.”  

Yu Zhengzheng noticed a flicker of joy in the Divine Lady’s eyes. It seemed she had completely forgotten her son, entirely immersed in the Third Prince’s feigned tenderness.  

The pair left hand in hand, leaving only the faint groans of pain emanating from the cage.  

“Mother… don’t go…”  

Yu Zhengzheng was silent. Now, she could understand why the Ghost King had turned the Third Prince into dragon jerky.  

She crouched down and peered through the gaps in the cage, spotting a small figure curled into a tight ball.  

Long lashes clung with crystalline tears, a reddened nose trembled, and pale lips quivered. His cheek bore the delicate softness of a freshly peeled egg, unmarred by pores.  

Sensing her gaze, the boy slowly lifted his tear-filled eyes, meeting her own.  

Yu Zhengzheng’s breath hitched. Before she could avert her gaze, the dream shattered, plunging her into chaos.  

Blood. Everywhere, blood. The world was bathed in crimson.  

The Ghost King, appearing no older than six or seven, was naked and bound to a pyre. The Third Prince held an icy blade, methodically cutting into his back.  

“You dared to kill the High Priest instead of serving him! This is all your fault! I’ll strip your dragon sinews as justice for Qing’er’s child!”  

His heart-wrenching screams echoed across the heavens. The Divine Lady stood idly by, watching it all unfold. Despite his desperate cries, her expression remained unmoved.  

Yu Zhengzheng knew she couldn’t help him—it was merely a dream.  

But as the blade sank deeper into his spine, tearing his tender flesh into a bloody mess, she could bear it no longer.  

Abruptly, she opened her eyes and found herself back in the icy confines of the Luan Palace, momentarily disoriented.  

The Ghost King remained sprawled on the ground, his features contorted in agony as the nightmare continued.  

She leaned closer, pressing her ear near his lips to catch his murmurs.  

“So cold…”  

She frowned, glancing around the inner hall. Aside from the hot spring pool, there wasn’t even a bed, let alone a quilt.  

Her gaze landed on the only potential “bed” in the outer hall—Shanshui in her coffin form. But even if Shanshui agreed, Yu Zhengzheng couldn’t bring herself to let him sleep there.  

To her, Shanshui wasn’t just a coffin but a living person. Letting the Ghost King sleep there felt wrong on so many levels.  

Looking at the Ghost King, who was nearly frozen solid, her mind flashed back to the pitiful child in the dream.  

Sighing, she lay down beside him, draping her silken robe made from heavenly silkworm threads over them both.  

As rain pattered outside, its rhythmic sound lulled her to sleep.  

By dawn, the Ghost King stirred, his arm numb. He frowned and opened his eyes, only to find Yu Zhengzheng nestled against him, fast asleep.  

A flicker of killing intent rose in his dark eyes.  

He had explicitly forbidden her from entering without his command.  

He loathed her—despised her with every fiber of his being.  

Her actions over the past seven years at Mount Penglai constantly reminded him of that woman who had debased herself for love.  

They were equally foolish, equally insufferable.  

Staring at her sleeping face, his pale hand slowly reached out.  

He would kill her.  

Kill her, and he wouldn’t think of that woman anymore.  

Kill her…  

His fingers brushed her hair, turning its silky strands to ash. His fingertips pressed down slightly, and a patch of her scalp quickly became bald.  

She stirred, mumbling something in her sleep.  

Curious, he leaned in, wanting to hear her final words.  

“Senior Brother… crematorium… how well done do you want it?”